


Disposable Heroes

by Elhariah



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Police, Alternative Universe - FBI, Crime Fighting, Crimes & Criminals, Eventual Romance, F/M, Guns, M/M, Organized Crime, Private Investigators, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-10-16 21:44:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10580088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elhariah/pseuds/Elhariah
Summary: An AU set in modern day New York. PI Dorian Pavus teams up with NYPD Captain Rutherford and his team to get to the bottom of the mysterious Red Heroin drug that has been plaguing the streets of The Bronx and beyond. This is a case that calls for some extra help!





	1. The Body and The Bomb

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at an AU fic. I have taken liberties with some of the characters and will draw parallels where I can. Inspired by tv cop shows. Theme music for opening credits would be The Light by Disturbed.

The stench of decay filled Dorian Pavus’ lungs. It was coming from the remains of what had once been a young woman. Her body slumped against a dumpster behind the popular Nightclub, Rift. From the state of the corpse, it was apparent rats had found her before anyone else had.  
Dorian had gotten wind of the discovery of the body and wanted to see things for himself before the NYPD clean-up crew moved all the evidence. Unfortunately getting wind of the body itself was another story altogether.  
“This isn't your jurisdiction, Pavus.” One of the cops, Detective Tethras, placed a hand on Dorian’s shoulder before he had a chance to duck under the police tape.  
Giving the burly cop a smile that practically dripped charm, Dorian said, “The whole city is my jurisdiction, Detective Tethras. I am not bound by your rules.”  
“You are bound by the city’s rules. By law. You can't just go traipsing around a potential crime scene.” Tethras released his iron grip and folded his arms, barring Dorian’s view of the body.  
Leaning past, Dorian spotted all he needed to see. A vial of faintly glowing fluid rested beside the girl’s stiff fingers and a needle hung from her arm.  
Another red heroin overdose. The seventh in less than a month.  
“You know you welcome my valuable input. Considering this case has stumped you for months, I am surprised you haven't enlisted my assistance officially.” Dorian dipped his hand into the inside pocket of his coat and pulled out a business card for Pavus Investigations. “Your people are welcome to be in touch with my people.”  
Tethras took the card and ran a finger over the black satin finish. “You are your people, Pavus.”  
“I am the only one who matters,” Dorian grinned and pulled up the wide collar of his coat dismissively. The October air had a bite to it, hinting at the potential for a cold winter to come.  
Making a noise that sounded like a cough and a chuckle had a love child, Tethras adjusted his ponytail and said, “Let the real cops do the work, huh? See ya around.”  
Knowing not to push his luck, Dorian took one last look at the scene and walked back out the alley.   
The Red Heroin case was a pet interest of his, but not something that paid the bills. He had a case sitting on his desk that probably needed some attention. Some disgruntled housewife suspecting her husband of adultery. Usually, those cases ended up being dismissed as petty jealousy from the accusing party’s side, but Dorian had a suspicion this one would prove to be more interesting. Any man that would cheat on this particular woman was a fool.   
His mind already ticking through the information he had filed away, Dorian’s feet auto-piloted him to one of his usual haunts, a coffee shop that also happened to serve the best bagels. He once discovered The Steam Room by chance, the name offering a misleading idea of what delights could be found inside. Dorian had settled for coffee but hadn’t looked back since.  
It was well after midnight, but the shop bustled with a mixed crowd of insomniacs, party-goers, and folks clearly coming off the late shift. Dorian found an empty booth toward the back and ordered a coffee and bagel from one of the waitresses, a student called Caroline. Caroline, in spite of her goth appearance, was always cheerful and flirty.  
“Ya ever gonna try something different? We have other bagel toppings than lox and cheese, ya know!” She said, her Bronx accent slightly muffled by the ever-present gum shoved under her cheek.  
Dorian slid some notes across to her. He always liked to pay up front in case he had to leave in a hurry. “Sorry, darling. I am a man of habit.”  
After Caroline trotted off to fill his order, Dorian pulled out his mobile phone and flicked through his e-mails. There was nothing of importance barring a somewhat bitchy request from NYPD’s Lieutenant Pentaghast to leave her men alone.  
His coffee and bagel arrived and Dorian was about to take the first bite when a blond-haired girl with an elf-like face slid into the seat across from him.  
“Oooh, bagel! My favorite!” Sera grabbed half from his plate and stuffed into her mouth.  
“You know, I did want to eat that.” Dorian slid his coffee out of reach in case that wasn’t sacred either.  
Sera frowned, her cheeks bulging. She swallowed with obvious difficulty then said, “I need it more than you. You’re getting fat, yeah?”  
Patting his flat stomach, Dorian took a pointed bite of the half of his bagel he managed to save. If he didn’t know better, he would have been offended. But Sera was constantly jibing him about some perceived fault or another. He chose to tolerate it because Sera had her uses.  
Spending a lot of time on the streets, Sera knew a lot about most people. She was also quick to step in and get involved, often in ways that Dorian turned a blind eye to. It was not exactly encouraged to take justice into one’s own hands. This wasn’t a Marvel TV series and Sera was certainly no Matt Murdock.  
“Got news for you. Word on the street is that that drug you are so obsessed with is gaining reach outside of the Bronx. Lenny, one of my boys out in Queens, was making a noise about one of their runners being asked to move the stuff around.” Sera leaned over the table, her fringe falling into one eye. “Apparently, it makes you feel like you can do anything you want. Gets rid of the fear without dulling the senses, you know?”  
“Hmmm… any news on who actually spoke to Lenny? A name? A face?”  
Sera shook her head. “He got a text. Think it was from one of those disposable phones.”  
Discomfort began to settle in Dorian’s stomach. It had been a mere three months since the first signs of the drug emerged in the Bronx. The little he knew made no sense. Whoever was producing the drug was marketing it to the young, party crowd. It was polished, professional. The vials he had seen looked of good quality with a dragon logo printed on the side. The drug was also hard to come by unless you had the right connections.  
Passing a note from his billfold to Sera, Dorian felt his irritation fade. She had earned her bagel. “Just keep an eye on things for me. I don’t think the cops are taking this as seriously as they should.”  
Sera grinned and stood, pulling a tatty hoodie over her head. “It’s what me and the Jennys are here for, innit?” She trotted off, not even bothering to say bye.  
Sera and her gang, the Red Jennys, were indeed useful. Dorian pulled out his notebook and made some scribbled notes. At some point, Rutherford and his men at the Precinct would be interested in this. And Dorian was quite willing to rub it in their faces.

***

Captain Cullen Rutherford regained consciousness slowly. He groaned and rolled over, his fingers brushing the empty bottle that lay nestled in the carpet.  
Well, shit.  
He fumbled around, getting his bearings, finally finding the side of the table to pull himself into a sitting position. His head throbbed and his mouth tasted like cotton that had been used to mop up day-old puke.  
As his world shifted into focus, he grew aware of a frantic pounding at his door. Cullen stumbled up, knowing full well who he would find on the other side.  
“Rutherford, you fucking idiot.” His long-time partner, Lieutenant Cassandra Pentaghast, stormed into his apartment, close to spitting fire. “I knew… I just knew when you weren’t answering your calls what had happened.”  
Cullen tried to palm some life back into his face. “Sorry. I.. it’s the anniversary of her death, Cassie. I couldn’t handle it…”  
“Shit… shit… I forgot. I should have thought of that.” Cassie placed a firm hand on his arm and led him to the couch. “Sit. I will make some coffee.”  
Cullen sat. His system was finally coming online and it was unpleasant. It had been a long time since he had slipped. Almost a year. But the shaking of his hands and raw ache in his stomach were old, familiar friends.  
“ I don't know why you insist on doing this alone. If you had just called me, it would have been fine.” Cassie fretted in the kitchen, finding the cups and coffee and slapping a new filter into the ancient coffee machine.  
He had considered calling her but Cullen thought it would seem weak. He realized that he had made the weak choice anyway. Mixing painkillers and booze was a stupid thing to do. But it had dulled the hurt in his soul for a while. Guilt that he had to endure every single day.  
Cassie sat beside Cullen, placing two mugs on the table. “You picked a hell of a time to fall apart. They found another body tonight.”  
“Red heroin?” Cullen asked. He took a sip of the coffee. Cassie had made it strong enough to fuel a jumbo jet.  
“It seems so. Forensics will confirm once they get the pathology results. Varric and Lace were at the scene.”  
Cassie’s phone vibrated and she scowled when she saw the number. “What is it, Varric?”  
Cullen watched her expression shift from annoyance to horror. She set the phone down and turned to him, her eyes wide. “Get your ass in the shower. There has been an explosion downtown. It looks bad.”

45 minutes later, both cops were standing outside The Rift, the same Nightclub where the corpse had been found.  
Detective Tethras and Officer Harding were waiting for them outside. Both cops looked a little shaken and pale.  
“What happened, Varric?” Cullen took in the chaos. Debris was scattered everywhere and paramedics and firemen bustled around. He saw a startling amount of bodies covered with plastic sheeting.  
“Looks like a pipe bomb, but things are still unclear. The club was almost empty, fortunately. Still a lot of fatalities, though.” Varric looked tired. It had already been a long and demanding night.  
Cullen ignored a dull headache that was a leftover from his slipping up. He turned to Cassie, whose calculating gaze was evaluating the scene. “Bit of a coincidence, Cassie. The girl with the overdose and then this. Do you think it’s connected?”  
“Doubtful. But we won’t rule it out,” Cassie frowned. “Any survivors? Witnesses?”  
Lace Harding, their most junior member of the team, shook her head. “Not yet, but they are still busy clearing the rubble from the blast. Death toll is at 24 so far. Stragglers, it seems. The club was officially closed.”  
This was big, Cullen realized. The story was going to make the next editions of all the major papers. Journalists loitered with cameras and notebooks like vultures. Even independent Reporter and blogger, Josephine Montilyet, was there with her GoPro trained on the scene. Her online accounts under TheFullMonti regularly posted content that went viral and Josephine was often on other news channels as guest Reporter.  
The attention also came with the pressure of getting things done properly. They couldn’t afford to mess a single thing up and put the Precinct in a bad light.

“Just as well I was down the road. You can all relax now. I have arrived!” Dorian Pavus strolled casually up to them, his light brown coat fluttering in the breeze. The man took his profession a little too seriously, Cullen thought. It would not be surprising if Dorian was a fan of those gumshoe detective novels and had a brass nameplate on his desk.  
“I thought I made it perfectly clear, Mr. Pavus,” Cassandra snarled. “You are unwelcome at this or any other crime scene under our jurisdiction.”  
“Now, now. I have some insight on the case that I just know you are dying to hear. Plus, I am curious if this is at all connected to the girl that was found earlier.” Dorian pulled out his phone and took some quick pictures of the rubble outside the building.  
Cullen stepped forward to snatch the phone but it quickly disappeared into one of the coat’s deep pockets. “What is it?”  
“My informant has alerted me to the spread of the sales of Red Heroin outside of the Bronx. Maybe if you were doing actual Detective work instead of worrying over jurisdiction, you would realize this problem is growing. Practically exploding, you could say?” Dorian pushed at a piece of brick with his foot.  
Varric frowned. “How do you know your informant is telling the truth? I haven’t heard of any spread of the drug.”  
“She is rather good at what she does. And doesn’t like her stomping grounds going to ruin.” Dorian shrugged. “Look, I am not looking for a fee from you guys. I want to help. Call me crazy, but I have a bad feeling about all of this.”  
“You’re crazy,” Varric muttered.  
Cullen held up a hand to silence them both before some infantile argument ensued. “Fine, Dorian. If you are upfront with your findings and stay out of our way.”  
Suddenly, EMTs burst out from The Rift, a stretcher with a body between them. An oxygen mask was fitted to the person’s face while one of the EMTs pumped at a bag with one gloved hand.  
“We have a survivor! Prep the ambulance and alert Lincoln Memorial we have one inbound! Male, late 20’s. Severe head trauma. Possible fractures. Lacerated hand. Possible toxicity.”  
Dorian raised a brow as they bustled past. “Hopefully our only witness won't die before we can chat to him.”  
Cullen could feel the edge of a migraine slipping into his temple. It took severe restraint to keep his mouth shut and not berate Dorian for his lack of tact. “Varric, see what information you can get on John Doe over there. Lace, see what you can find out about Rift. Any connections, past issues or anything that smells funny. Otherwise, it’s late and we should all be in bed. We can review the notes from the cleanup crew in the morning.”  
The team dispersed and Cassie turned to him, one eyebrow raised. “Can I trust you to keep your shit together?”  
“I have to.” Cullen sighed. “Things clearly just got complicated.

***

The alarm on Dorian’s phone sounded way too soon and he fumbled around in a sleep-drunk stupor to turn it off. He groaned and pulled his silk sheets over his head for a moment before the events of the night before come flashing back.  
There was so much to do and research. Plus, he had his actual clients to assist as well.  
Dorian hissed as his bare feet hit the cold, wood-veneered floors of his small bedroom. His place was liveable but left much to be desired. That didn’t mean that a man couldn’t make do with he had and Dorian had made every effort to spruce the place up where he could.  
After making a cup of coffee, he settled in his office and flicked on his laptop. As predicted, the explosion at the club was slashed all over the news sites. The information was vague, but a few articles were making crazy speculations about gang involvement or insurance claims.  
A few more clicks revealed that the club was fairly new, having only opened its doors the year previously. There was very little on who the owner or owners were, but plenty of the various celebs who had been seen partying it up on one of the many themed dance floors.  
A knock at the door broke Dorian’s attention away from The Rift’s flashy website. He set down his coffee, now cold, and padded to the door, regretting not changing into something more than his robe.  
He needn't have worried. Once glance through the peephole revealed his sometimes lover, Alex, standing outside looking petulant.  
Bustling in as soon as Dorian released the chain on the door, Alex seemed intent on getting everything off his chest in one fell swoop. “Dor, baby. Where were you last night? I called and called! And even popped in. Julio said you hadn’t shown face all evening!”

Dorian made a mental note to have a little chat with Julio, his overly friendly doorman.  
“I was working. You know how busy it gets,” Dorian said, placing his hands firmly on Alex’s shoulders. “Things are going to be hectic for a while.”  
Alex’s lower lip drooped. “So does that mean no trip out for lunch?”  
“Unfortunately not.” Dorian’s phone buzzed and he quickly flicked to the message from Tethras.  
Meet us @ Lincoln Memorial. John Doe is awake.  
Rushing to grab his coat and bag, Dorian gave Alex a placating pat. “Work calls. I will message you later?”  
Alex’s mumbled reply was cut off by his apartment door closing.


	2. The Millionaire and the Mark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some minor tweaks to the original. I swear, the plot will kick in soon!

Lincoln Memorial was an old hospital located in downtown Bronx. The building’s exterior was in dire need of repairs and Dorian questioned if he would rather risk his chances than be admitted.  
Dorian wrinkled his nose as the stench of antiseptic hit him along with a blast of heated air when the doors slid open. He hated hospitals. It was a pity his job lead him to them more often than he would like. He would still rather be here than with Alex, who had become excessively clingy lately. It was like Alex could sense his interest waning and thought holding on tightly was going to keep them together.  
Dorian was not good at relationships. Rather, he saw them as distractions with very short shelf lives. The thought of being tied down to one person for an indefinite period of time was hardly appealing. The intimacy aspect was fantastic but people became tedious, needy. Suddenly expectations were placed on him that he had no desire to fill and mundane activities arranged without his consent.  
Sera once joked that he had yet to meet the right person that would hold his attention. Dorian doubted that. Yes, there were many fish in the sea and he had sampled a fair selection of them, but there had never been a single one he wasn’t willing to toss back out there.  
Lace Harding beckoned to Dorian as he approached, the scar across her cheek looking stark in the fluorescent lighting. Dorian wondered where she got it from and if there was a cool story attached to it.  
“His name is Max Trevelyan. 28 years’ old and absolutely no memory of what happened last night.” Harding passed Dorian a hospital report. “He’s quite banged up, but should recover well. Varric is with him now.”  
“Why did Tethras contact me, then? I know I have a lot to offer, but there doesn’t seem to be any reason for me to be here.”  
Harding glanced at the closed door of the ward behind her before answering. “Max is being… difficult. Varric is hoping a different approach may help.”  
“I would also be difficult if I was the lone survivor of a terrible event and was being interrogated by strangers,” Dorian reasoned.  
“A terrible event, indeed!” A man who looked oddly familiar approached them. He was dressed in an expensive-looking suit and had dark hair that was slicked back stylishly. He stuck out a hand for Dorian to shake. “Seth LaDaris. I am one of the co-owners of Rift and the CEO of CoryCorp.”  
“Pleasure.” Dorian shook his hand briefly, feeling uncomfortable at his touch. Recognition dawned. Of course Seth look familiar. The man was often on the covers of magazines such as Fortune and Time, his confident smile probably selling more copies than the actual articles did. Seth was a panty-dropper, no doubt.  
Seth cast his dark eyes over Dorian. “I, of course, know who you are, Dorian Pavus. I am surprised to see NYPD opted to keep the thorn in their side around.”  
“It’s because they need my good looks and charisma.” Dorian ran a finger along one side of his moustache, consideringly. “As much as I love talking about myself, you have not explained why you are here.”  
“I am concerned about the patient, of course. I wanted to find out if there is anything I can do to assist with his recovery.” Seth smiled, a mixture of charm and confidence.  
Harding stepped in. “Thank you for your concern, Mr LaDaris. If you like, you can leave your details with me and we will be in touch if we need anything?”  
Looking a little irritated, Seth quickly smoothed his features over and passed a card to her. “Please, do keep in touch?”  
Dorian said nothing as the man turned and walked away. It was a true test of his professionalism not to allow his eyes to linger on Seth’s ass.  
Varric stepped out from the ward then. “Who was that?” He gestured toward Seth’s retreating figure.  
“Seth LaDaris. You know, the millionaire playboy?” Harding grumbled and tossed the card at Varric. “He wanted to see if he could help.”  
“I don’t buy that,” Dorian said. “I think he wanted to see Max Trevelyan in person.”  
“That’s a little weird. Why would be bother coming here in person? If he was worried about Max sueing, he could have just sent one of his minions with a cheque.” Varric frowned and slid the card into his pocket.  
Dorian, however, was there to see Max Trevelyan. “You wanted me to speak to Max?”   
Varric gestured at the door. “Go on in. Just have a general chat with him and let me know what you think.”  
The room was dimly lit and Max Trevelyan its only occupant. His eyes were closed and his blond hair still bore evidence from last night’s blast.  
Dorian sat in a shitty, plastic chair and waited for the sole survivor to wake up.

***

The junkie crouched in the shadows of a dumpster, a vial clutched in one trembling hand. The cravings had been getting worse, so much worse. He tilted the vial so that the translucent red liquid swirled with the clear base, causing it to emit a faint glow. It was party time.  
Filling the syringe was a challenge, but he managed to get it right without shattering the vial. That has happened once before and has set him back a few hundred dollars and a few days of agonizing withdrawal. The needle entered his arm and the plunger depressed.  
The rush was amazing. His veins filled with a tingling warmth and a feeling of insane confidence took over. His hands steadied and his addiction-ravaged mind cleared.  
Standing, the junkie marveled at how quickly it kicked in. He felt like he could do anything and be anyone. But there no real time to enjoy it. He had to make the most of the drug now, as his funds were depleted and he was on his last vial. As soon as the effects wore off, he would be reduced to a useless husk again and he couldn’t have that. Not again. Not ever.  
Pulling his hoodie over his shaven head, he stepped out the alley and merged with the daytime crowd of unsuspecting New Yorkers.

***

Max Trevelyan shifted as his awareness of Dorian’s presence grew. He opened his startlingly blue eyes and squinted, his focus wobbly with whatever pain medication was flowing through his system. “You a cop?” he mumbled.  
“Not exactly.” Dorian shifted forward so he was more in Max’s line of sight. “But I am working with them to figure out what happened. My name is Dorian Pavus.”  
“Are you trying to be Tom Selleck? My mother loved that stupid show.”  
Tom Selleck? Dorian wasn't really one for tv, but his mind drew forth an image of a man with an impressive moustache. Ah, right. Moustache. “I am far more handsome,” he quipped. “Detective Varric Tethras asked me to have a quick chat with you. How are you feeling?”  
“Like a building fell on me.” Max held up a heavily bandaged hand. “And my hand feels really weird. Apparently I crushed some glass or something? I don’t know what else I can tell you, though. I don’t remember much.”  
“What’s the last thing you remember?”   
“Nothing. I can only recall yesterday morning. I had a bagel at my local spot. Lox. Cream cheese. The rest is completely gone.” Max sighed. “I could do with a bagel right about now. The excuse for food they served me was disgusting.”  
Chatting to Max would be no help, Dorian realised. It was also hard to tell if he was really this odd or if it was the drugs talking. Perhaps it would be better to try again later once things had properly settled down.  
“Get some rest. I may be back to ask you more questions.” Dorian stood, feeling his tired body complain slightly. He needed to work on getting enough sleep. And perhaps a better gym schedule.  
Max’s eyes closed again and he mumbled a good-bye.  
If Dorian wanted to make any progress with this case, he realised he needed to expand his contacts on the street. The more eyes he had out there, the better. The question now, was who?

***  
Captain Cullen Rutherford’s desk was a scattering of various files and papers. A half-drunk cup of coffee perched on the edge of the chaos, a film forming over the surface in neglect.  
Cullen fought back a yawn and pawed through the mess of papers in search of the forensic report from the last autopsy on a Red Heroin victim that was discovered the previous week.

Strange, red crystallizations formed in the veins.  
Enlarged left ventricle of the heart.  
Bruising on the undersides of the wrists and around the ankles.

All seven of the bodies found thus far showed similar signs with no logical explanation for them other than being linked to the effects of the drug. The Pharmacology team was busy analysing what little traces of the drug was left behind in the vials, but it was slow and not yielding much information.  
Raised voices across the room drew his attention. A familiar suited figure was standing with Cassandra and both women were gesturing at each other angrily.  
“This is not FBI jurisdiction! You cannot just storm in here demanding information from my team!” Cassie practically pushed the other woman with a jab from one pointed finger.  
“This case is bigger than NYPD. You need our assistance and resources.” The woman, whom Cullen remembered was FBI Agent Leliana Nightingale, flicked auburn hair behind one ear. She was dressed in a neat black suit and had a scarf draped around her neck.  
Cassie looked like she was close to losing her temper entirely, but she spotted Cullen and seemed to pull herself together. He walked over, if only to save Cassie from herself.  
“Agent Nightingale. It’s a pleasure to see you again.” Cullen shook her hand.  
Nightingale’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t lie to me, Captain Rutherford. You are as pleased as your partner here. You are just better at diplomacy.”  
“Well. Be that as it may, we do need to expand our reach. Do you require some space here to set up?”  
Nightingale cast a look around. “That might be best. It will just be myself and Agent Blackwall for now.”  
Cullen nodded. At least it wasn’t the whole damn agency.  
A tall man with a beard approached them, two coffees clasped in his giant hands. He handed one to Nightingale and then shook Cullen’s hand. “Agent Thom Blackwall. I will try to stay out of your way if you stay out of mine.”  
“Understood,” Cullen said. Blackwall cut an intimidating figure, easily both wider and taller than Cullen. Briefly Cullen wondered who would win if they ever had an altercation. He then remembered that he was more of a paper-pusher these days. One who opted to neglect his own body out of apathy.  
After pointing the two Agents to a quiet corner, Cullen pulled his old friend aside. “I trust this won't cause problems, Cassie?”  
“All I care about is getting the job done.” The words sounded forced, but he didn't argue with her. Instead, he placed a hand on Cassie’s arm briefly. She didn’t pull away, which was new. As good of a friend as she was, Cassie was not one for affection.  
“I need to get back to the case files. And chase Varric up on his report.”  
Cassie nodded and gave a small chuckle. “He is probably too busy using this as fodder for his next trashy romance.”  
Varric was a well-known author, which sometimes pulled him away for the odd evening for events and signings. Cullen had no issue as he was the best Detective in the Precinct and did a damn fine job. He was also an excellent mentor to Lace, who idolized him.  
“We will chat later?” Cullen said.  
Cassie gave him an assessing look. “If you need anything…”  
“Just time and coffee.”   
They parted ways, Cullen wondering what he would do without her.  
Before his mind could wander down that particular path, Lace Harding trotted up to him, looking very flustered.  
“Uh, we have a problem, sir. The body from the club? It’s disappeared!”


End file.
